


Illusionary

by triste



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-22
Packaged: 2017-11-19 06:59:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triste/pseuds/triste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How did Sweden do it? Denmark could only come to the conclusion that he must be dirt repellent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Illusionary

Title: Illusionary  
Author: Triste  
Fandom: Hetalia  
Pairing: Sweden/Denmark  
Rating: PG  
Status: Complete  
Disclaimer: Not mine

~~

The look on Sweden’s face was not a happy one, but then Denmark would have no doubt fallen over in shock if it had been. He’d never seen Sweden so much as crack a smile before. Denmark was always smiling. He always tried to make sure he was in a good mood. That was why he gave Sweden a huge grin and an equally enthusiastic wave as he entered the café.

Subtelty was not Denmark’s strong point, but he was proud of himself for being able to read and distinguish between Sweden’s fairly limited expressions. Most people would have mistaken the way he was currently regarding Denmark as intimidating, but to Denmark, it was more an air of exasperation coupled with an “oh, it’s you” reaction.

Grin widening, Denmark made sure to take his time in reading the menu as Sweden waited to take his order. “It’s pretty quiet in here today,” he remarked. “Have you been scaring all the customers away again?”

Sweden said nothing. Denmark sighed. Sweden’s refusal to be baited was making Denmark quickly lose interest in him, and besides, he was hungry. Without further ado, he picked out what he wanted, informed Sweden of his choice and then sat back to do a bit of people watching.

Cafés were good for that, and Denmark liked watching their various visitors come and go. It was always entertaining to hear the more unsuspecting customers emitting a startled squeak upon being greeted by Sweden’s welcoming glare, but Denmark had noticed that he did seem to get a lot of regulars.

It was the service that kept them coming back to brave Sweden’s dark aura with their loyalty. Denmark could admit that much at least. And maybe the cleanliness. Sweden did take such things incredibly seriously. The table Denmark sat at was so shiny he could see his reflection in it.

The other reason, and probably the most important one, was the food. Denmark’s sweet tooth acknowledged the fact that Sweden made exceedingly delicious desserts. Not as delicious as anything Denmark could create, of course, but definitely edible all the same.

Sweden returned sooner than Denmark expected. The most Denmark got out of him was a nod as he set out his order, but Denmark supposed that was special treatment reserved just for him. Sweden spoke to the other customers readily enough, albeit usually in one-word answers and the occasional grunt, but he hadn’t even told Denmark to enjoy his meal.

Denmark didn’t exactly need telling, but it would have been nice to hear it anyway. Better still would have been a cute waitress in a flashy uniform with a great personality and a willingness to give things away “on the house”, but Denmark simply had to make do with what he had.

He lifted the cup of coffee Sweden had brought him to his lips, blowing away the steam before taking his first sip, his gaze following Sweden idly as he moved from one table to the other. His outfit was nowhere near as eye-catching as the one the waitress Denmark’s imagination had conjured up, but then Sweden just wouldn’t be Sweden if his clothes weren’t as boring and strait-laced as his attitude. The black pants and spotless white shirt he wore were uninspired, as was the plain blue apron.

As with the rest of what he had on, Sweden’s apron was absolutely crease free. Denmark wondered if he ironed it during his breaks to keep it looking so immaculate. It seemed a very Sweden-like thing to do.

Still, Denmark couldn’t fault Sweden’s perfectionist tendencies when it came to making sweets. The cake he’d served Denmark looked almost too good to eat, but just staring at it would have been a terrible waste. Good cake really was something to be savoured, and Denmark did exactly that.

Satisfied and feeling very at peace with the world, Denmark drank the last of his coffee, dabbed his mouth with a napkin and sighed in contentment. Sweden quickly noticed that he was finished and came over to clear the table. He was efficient and unobtrusive at his job, air of menace aside, and soon left Denmark to relax in peace.

Unfortunately, Denmark’s relaxation didn’t last too long when Sweden handed him a slip of white paper on his way past.

“Your bill,” he said, eyeing Denmark expectantly.

Denmark gazed back blankly “Bill?” he echoed.

Sweden nodded. He was obviously being serious, not joking as Denmark had previously assumed.

“But... but...” Denmark couldn’t find a nice way to say that he possessed neither the money nor the desire to pay for what he’d ordered in the first place, so instead he gave Sweden a little bit of sunshine by showing him his brightest smile. “We’re pals now, aren’t we? Can’t we just call this a freebie and be done with it?”

Sweden’s frown darkened, and Denmark’s smile faded.

“Do you take IOUs?”

Apparently Sweden didn’t, because he tugged Denmark to his feet and steered him in the direction of the kitchen. An apron and a pair of gloves were given to him as soon as they passed through the doors, and that was when Sweden pointed at the sink full of dirty dishes.

Being forced to work off his debt wasn’t fair, in Denmark’s opinion, but he completed the job Sweden had assigned him anyway. He did complain to himself as he cleaned, though, his earlier good mood ruined. Anyway, an hour or two of washing dishes wouldn’t be too bad, or so Denmark thought. Sweden ended up keeping him there the whole day, right until the final customer exited the café and Sweden turned the sign on the door from open to closed.

Denmark continued to sulk as he dried the last of the dishes, letting Sweden know by shooting him mournful glances every few minutes that this was slave labour.

It couldn’t be right. He’d only ordered one cup of coffee and two slices of cake. Surely that couldn’t equate to half a morning and an entire afternoon of hard graft.

If dong the actual work hadn’t been bad enough, having to hover awkwardly in the background as Sweden meticulously inspected the results was even worse. Even more annoying was the fact that he looked as immaculate as ever while Denmark’s clothes were wrinkled in some places and wet in others from spilled dishwater.

How did Sweden do it? Denmark could only come to the conclusion that he must be dirt repellent.

Denmark sighed. What a waste of a day. He could have been off having fun somewhere or bothering someone, but here he was, stuck in Sweden’s kitchen. His arms ached from handling all those dishes, his legs were sore from standing up for so long and on top of that, his back hurt.

It was a relief to sit down and slump over in exhaustion, but Denmark had only closed his eyes for a few seconds before Sweden was shaking his shoulder to get his attention.

A feeling of dread in his stomach, Denmark opened his eyes again, fully expecting Sweden to tell him to start cleaning the front of the shop too, but Sweden surprised him by giving him pastries.

“A reward,” he told Denmark. “You did a good job.”

It took Denmark a moment to register what Sweden had just said, and it brought his good mood rushing back. He jumped to his feet in joy, reaching out to hug Sweden and share some of his happiness, but Sweden was prepared and fended him off with a mop.

Denmark didn’t mind. Sweden wasn’t even hurting him that much. Moreover, the pastries were even tastier than the cake he’d eaten before.

Life was great. But, because Denmark was an optimist (and because he could be slightly greedy sometimes), he tried to push his luck. His body still ached all over. So, he asked Sweden to do something about it.

Sweets were the only things Sweden was prepared to give out for free, because when Denmark asked him for a massage, the only thing he got was a face full of mop.

Denmark went right back to sulking after that, but when the time came to shut the café at last, he could have sworn he saw something almost resembling a smile on Sweden’s lips. It vanished the instant Denmark commented on it and left him to think that it must have been an illusion from working so hard. Next thing he knew, his tired mind would be picturing Sweden in a waitress outfit.

Shaking his head to clear away the mental image before it could begin to take shape, Denmark guided his thoughts to more constructive matters, such as tagging along with Sweden on his way back home and the kind of things they could do with themselves once they arrived.

A smirk firmly in place, Denmark conveniently forgot to remember that he’d had more ups and downs than a seesaw during his day together with Sweden. He had yet to show off the full extent of his persuasion skills, which he was perfectly entitled to do.

He’d earned more than just a plate of pastries. Denmark would make sure of that.

 

End.


End file.
